‘When I found my faith my mates thought I’d gone round the bend’

Some songs just work their way into our hearts, until the tears have to be choked back, or a damp cheek discreetly wiped.

Charlie Landsborough’s My Forever Friend is one of those tear-triggering songs. It was my late mother’s favourite and conjures up beautiful memories of her singing along to it, her own eyes moist with reminiscences.

She met Charlie, too, when he played once in Belfast. It was one of the best nights of her life.

I tell him this when we meet for a chat ahead of his farewell tour, and he is genuinely moved.

‘‘Ah, that’s lovely,’’ he says in his wonderfully rich working-class Liverpudlian accent.

‘‘I love it when people share stories like that.’’

In a world rife with unsocial and unpleasant musical stars, 77-year-old singer-songwriter Charlie Landsborough is an exemplar of decency and a thoroughly nice gent.

He tells me about a daydream he harbours: ‘‘If I was absolutely loaded, I’d love to hire a big fancy hotel and invite all these absolute characters that I know and put them all in there for a week and say ‘it’s all paid for, the only understanding is that you be completely yourself, we don’t want any airs and graces’.’’

Despite his fame, Charlie Landsborough has no pretensions. He’s a down-to-earth Scouser with a fondness for whiskey and Guinness (despite a weak bladder), a wicked sense of humour and a glut of fantastic stories about ‘scallys’ and his late friend Vinnie, who was prone to many uproariously funny malaprops...he once ‘diluted’ a message, rather than ‘deleted’.

As septuagenarian singers go, Charlie Landsborough is in fine fettle; his Messiah-like long grey hair resplendent and nattily dressed in smart shirt and mauve trousers.

‘‘I was in the army at one time and I hated getting my hair cut, so when I got out I grew it. I always liked long hair. I don’t know whether it was the stories of the saints or the knights, but with this bony face you need all the help you can get to hide it,’’ he chuckles.

On his fingers are an array of gold rings, Mr T would be justifiably envious of, and naturally each one has a story; the large opal one he bought despite it being a ‘bit ostentatious, a bit Liberace’, because he didn’t want to offend the jewellery shop owner; the one the aforementioned Vinnie bought him with a crucifix; one which bears the Hebrew transcription ‘fear not for I am with you’; and a Claddagh ring bought in Athlone for him by his wife of some 50 years, Thelma.

The former primary school teacher started singing professionally in the 1970s, although his major success did not come until 1994 with his song What Colour is the Wind. Is he glad he didn’t find fame earlier?

‘‘Yeah, I’d probably be dead by now,’’ he smiles. ‘‘I think God chose the right time.’’

He recalls: ‘‘In 1994 I said ‘Alright Lord, I give in, I don’t know why you gave me these musical gifts because everywhere I turn I get back-heeled. I said if you want me to be a teacher in Birkenhead I’ll do it, but you’ll have to help me out, I don’t like it very much’. It’s almost as if from that the whole thing began to take off.’’

His farewell tour will take him all over Ireland and although he is pragmatic and knows it’s time to hang up his guitar, he is sad about leaving it all behind.

‘‘Of course I’m sad,’’ he says. ‘‘I’m surrounded by good people who’ve helped me - you don’t do anything on your own. I’ve been to places I never dreamed I would ever go and I thank the Almighty ever night ‘Thank you Lord for this gift which I did nothing for, for where it’s taken me and the pleasure, hopefully, that it’s brought to others and to myself’.

‘‘I am very thankful for it and I’ll miss it immensely, but I’m getting a bit long in the tooth and I want to go before my voice goes.’’

So what can people expect from the new tour?

‘‘Some people who have never been (to the shows) have this misconception that it’s like a mass and you are all sitting in deathly silence and I sing sad songs all the time, but we do some up tempo stuff and I tell these little anecdotes.’’

Charlie Landsborough’s faith informs his music, whether that is his early, mega-hits like My Forever Friend or later songs like Long And Heavy Chain and If Only I Had Wings.

He describes himself as a ‘‘spiritual gypsy’’.

‘‘I was brought up as a Protestant and then because of my enchantment with Ireland I became a Catholic for a while and then I didn’t agree with the teachings, so I’m now a Pentecostal, an evangelical, Bible-believer,’’

But he adds: ‘‘I’m non-judgemental, I’m a very ordinary fella, flawed like everybody else, hopefully forgiven by everybody else, because I need forgiveness.’’

When he found his faith initially, he says his mates gave him a bit of ribbing,

‘‘At first they said ‘Charlie’s gone round the bend, he’s gone all religious’ and I’d say ‘what are you getting so ratty about? This thing I believe in, I’m not judging you, I just want to be as good as I can for as long as I can’.

‘‘In the end they said ‘ah, he’s round the bend, but he’s alright’, so they’ve accepted me now,’’ he laughs.

His retirement will be spent playing ‘‘very bad golf’’, doing charity work and brushing up his German and Spanish. And even though he’ll no longer be touring, Ireland will remain Charlie’s forever friend.

‘‘I love Ireland, north and south. My love affair stretches back years.’’

*We are giving two readers the chance to meet Charlie Landsborough and see him perform at the Grand Opera House, Belfast, on January 29. All you have to do to is drop us an email marked ‘Charlie Landsborough competition’ and send it, along with your name, daytime telephone number and address, to [email protected]. Closing date for entries is 1pm, Monday, January 28.